Will the Real Prince Charming Please Stand Up (20 page)

"How's school?" he asked us.

Joyce's father is tall with graying hair at the temples which gives him a distinguished air. There are crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes and his nose looks as if it had once been broken and never reset quite right. It makes him look like a prizefighter.

"I got an A on my French test," Joyce ventured.

Her dad smiled his approval. "That's my girl! How's school for you, Danna?"

"Fine, but since I'm not as smart as Joyce, I only got a B minus on my last language test. My favorite subject is still art."

"You have a lot of talent," he said in his deep, resonant voice. "My wife loves that portrait you did of Joyce."

I thanked him for the compliment. He always said nice things to Joyce and me, not like my stepfather.

"How's everything going for you, Dad? Catch any criminals today?"

"Not a one. But I did take statements at an accident. I just happened to be near the scene. Nasty business not far from the mall on the highway. It involved some kids from your school."

Joyce wanted to know all the details. She loved hearing about her dad’s work, but I kind of tuned it out.

As we pulled up to my house, I thanked Mr. Winslow for the ride.

"Give my regards to your father," he said as I got out of the car. "How's he getting along?"

"All right, I guess." My mom says never to complain about things, so I don't. I think she's right. I mean who wants to hear bad things? But I know that Joyce's father does care about my stepdad because he served in the military too.

My stepdad was asleep in his wheelchair in front of the television set in the living room. I moved around quietly so as not to disturb him. I watched his face as he slept. It looked almost handsome in repose. I liked him best at times like this when his guard was down. He was so different from Mr. Winslow. Joyce's father always struck me as having strength of character and great vitality. Being a policeman had to be a tough job. But he always seemed upbeat. His voice boomed through the house as he entered a room. I couldn't help envying Joyce just a little.

My stepdad was sullen and moody most of the time. I didn’t like spending time with him. When he woke up, it wasn’t any different than usual. I was glad when Mom came home, because things brightened. I told her about my day and she told me about hers. My stepdad just listened. Every now and then he coughed. Although he never smoked, there were problems with his lungs.

“How are you feeling?" Mom asked him, her forehead wrinkling.

"All right. I took a pain killer a while ago. It's kicking in." I thought it might be the need for drugs that made Dad surly and silent, but I was never sure.

Mom began fixing dinner in the kitchen and I gave her a hand.

"We're sculpting for this marking period in art class. I think I'm going to try to do you. Is that okay?"

"Why, Danna, that would be very nice. I’m flattered, but couldn’t you find a better subject?"

"I want to do you. You’re beautiful."

She looked pleased. “I’d be honored, but I’m hardly beautiful.”

“You are, in my eyes.”

My stepdad wheeled himself into the kitchen. He picked up the newspaper he’d left on the table earlier in the day and began glancing through it. “I’m glad Reagan won the election for a second term.”

“Is he a good president?” I asked.

“The best,” my stepdad affirmed. “He’s brought stability and security to the country. He’s even got a decent foreign policy. The country is going to do better economically because of him.”

“I don’t know,” my mother said. “My parents believed that the Republicans were only out to benefit rich people. My folks always voted Democratic.”

“The Republicans ended the Vietnam War and brought our boys home. As for Ronald Reagan, I voted for him twice, and just about the entire country did the same. You’ve been outvoted.”

“Guess I have at that.” Mom didn’t seem troubled by the disagreement. She never took politics to heart the way my stepdad did.

I followed my mother’s example. For me, history was what happened while we ordinary folks lived our lives. I guess the only problem came when history affected our lives — like with the war in Vietnam.

****

Our house is little more than a bungalow with a small front room, kitchen, two bedrooms and an attic, but it's very homey, and best of all it's close to the ocean. On quiet nights, I imagine I can hear the sea, although Mom says we're really too far away. Yet I believe the rhythm of the sea puts me to sleep.

In my dreams that night, I saw a tall, handsome blond boy with dazzling blue eyes smiling at me. I heard him call my name and I reached for him. There was a beautiful golden halo around his head.

“Are you an angel?” I asked him, awed by his incandescence.

“Yes, I’m your angel,” he said.

Then I was being kissed by Gar Hansen. I woke up feeling foolish. Gar Hansen, an angel? How could I have dreamt such a thing? That stuck-up snob was never going to notice me. And who wanted him to anyway? Me, that’s who! I had to tell the truth to myself. I mean, who was I kidding? Of course, I wanted him to notice me. Still, I knew how foolish it was and unrealistic besides.

I started to tell Joyce about my weird dream the next day in the library, but thought better of it. I figured she’d probably laugh in my face. I didn’t want my friend to think less of me.

Joyce and I generally took our study hall in the library because it was quiet and we could really work there. I was concentrating on my geometry and praying that I'd be given a tutor soon when I felt someone's eyes on me. At first, I thought it was my imagination. But no, there was a boy across the room just sitting there staring at me. I didn't dare to look at him. I tried hard to ignore him and concentrate on my work, but I couldn't. Every time I looked up, there he was staring at me still. Joyce didn't notice; she was too caught up in her book.

I figured he was playing some dumb game at my expense. Finally, becoming angry, I stared back. Then I really looked at him and truly saw him. His wavy, black hair caught the light and his eyes were dark as coal. He smiled at me, bold and cocky. I blushed and turned away. Then I elbowed Joyce who mumbled something derogatory and continued her reading.

"There's some guy at that table over there staring at me," I whispered.

"What?" She surfaced from her book like a diver with the bends.

"Is there anything weirder than usual about my appearance? Do I have poppy seeds caught between my front teeth from my roll at lunch?"

"You look fine." She was clearly annoyed.

"Don't be obvious," I whispered. "He's two tables away and he keeps looking at me. I don’t recognize him, do you? Just check him out, okay?"

She discreetly looked around. "You're right," Joyce said, eyes widening behind her thick glasses. "There's a good-looking, dark-haired guy staring in our direction. I’ve never seen him before. I’m certain of it. Are you sure you don’t know him from somewhere?"

"No, never saw him before either. I would have remembered. It's kind of weird."

"Just ignore him," Joyce suggested. "He'll get the message. Obviously, he has nothing better to do, so he's decided to be a pain."

I forced myself to read my book, although I really couldn't absorb a word of it. Once more, I glanced up to find
him
looking directly at me. He smiled again and I couldn't help thinking he had the whitest teeth I'd ever seen. Jarred by the bell ringing at the end of the period, I gathered my things together. He seemed to be coming toward me. It struck me then: for the first time in my life, a boy was attempting to flirt with me, and a gorgeous one at that!